


Like Fire and Leaves

by KuriQuinn



Series: SasuSakuMonth2017 [3]
Category: Naruto, The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Vampire Diaries Fusion, Alternature Universe - Naruto Fusion, Angry Sex, Biting, Blood, Chemistry, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Klaroline, Semi-Public Sex, Tumblr: sasusakumonth, Vampires, Wall Sex, sasusakumonth2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriQuinn/pseuds/KuriQuinn
Summary: "It’s rather well-preserved for something sketched on the back of a scroll five hundred years ago,” he remarks, enjoying the fact she doesn’t even flinch at his voice. “And you look as ravishing as the day when I drew it.” [SasuSakuMonth2017 - Day 3 - Prompt: “Chemistry”]





	Like Fire and Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Although all recognizeable characters, situations and premises are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media, the individual plots of these fics and all original characters are © KuriQuinn (2002-2016). Although I make no money from their existence, I will hound you to the ends of the Internet if you steal from me because it’s still my intellectual property. If you want to borrow, ask my permission first. The Vampire Diaries is L. J. Smith and the CW. Recognisable dialogue comes from The Vampire Diaries.
> 
> Warnings: FUSION FIC! Naruto/The Vampire Diaries. OCness, I guess. Or we could just say that it’s RTN Sakura and Charasuke. Also, I never actually read TVD books, so the style here is probably nothing like that haha. Also also, it’s been years since I’ve been to the Louvre, and without my internet to help me, I didn’t have any up-to-date descriptions of the place so I’ve kept those to the minimum…
> 
> AN:This is unedited, although my braintwin JBankai89 was kind enough to make sure the nsfw scene made sense. Yay!

 

Every fifty years or so, Sasuke Uchiha likes to visit the Louvre.

It’s a pilgrimage he started when it first opened to the public in 1793 (although he had visited there several times before the Revolution) and which he keeps up whenever his iterant heart brings him back through Europe.

And now, for the first time in decades, he no longer has to worry about his ancient vampiric ancestor Madara hunting him and his kin down one by one.

 _Bastard_ , he thinks, and the word is the most charitable one he can think of. Plunging the white oak stake through his heart was the highlight of his immortal life.

This is his first visit to the museum where he hasn’t had to keep a low profile, and so he chooses to live it up a little. Through compulsion and good old-fashioned bribery, he’s been renting out entire wings of the place all week, to ensure his perusal is free of picture-snapping tourists and wailing children.

And if he’s ensorcelled a silly little human to follow him around with a bottle of his favourite champagne vintage, who’s to complain?

“Can’t we have a  _real_  drink? You might like acting like a pretentious dick-bag with your fancy-ass grapes, but I’d kill for a beer.”

_Other than Suigetsu, of course._

“You might pretend to have some refinement,” Sasuke suggests.

“Nah. I was born a working class slob and I died a working class slob. There’s no changing me now, as  _certain_  people keep reminding me.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, not wanting to be drawn into another tedious rant on this particular subject.

Suigetsu is on the outs with his mate right now – Karin is temperamental at the best of times – and if Sasuke hadn’t ordered him to tag along, the idiot might have fallen into the kind of trouble that draws attention. It’s happened before and, as fun as it is to go on a tear with the other man, it’s inconvenient.

Sasuke might not fear anything in this world anymore, but he’s not exactly in the mood to deal with the repercussions of humans discovering the supernatural world. Besides, they just arrived in Paris and he doesn’t intend to breeze out of the city until he’s had his way with it.

As luck would have it, Suigetsu is surprisingly knowledgeable about art, although his preference is medieval weaponry.

“I assume you intend to abstain as well?” Sasuke asks of his other companion.

Jūgo nods solemnly.

The redheaded giant is the most loyal of Sasuke’s few remaining hybrids – half-vampire, half-werewolf creatures of which Sasuke was the first – and one of the few who maintains his sire-bond to him by choice. 

Jūgo is a shy man, until he gets either blood or alcohol in his system. Then his savagery rivals even the worst Rippers; it’s only his sire-bond to Sasuke that keeps him in check from his more violent tendencies, along with a healthy dose of compulsion. Sasuke has had to make use of that brutality on a number of occasions to send a message, but for the most part their association allows Jūgo a chance at a normal life.

Well, as normal as life can be for a blood-drinking immortal.

 _Everyone has hidden depths,_ Sasuke supposes. He just doesn’t have the time or the inclination to explore those for every sob-story he meets.  _Speaking of…_

As they step out of the room and into the hallway leading to the next exhibit, Sasuke tenses; the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he allows his eyes to bleed red. Sight, smell and hearing sharpen, and he realises they are not alone.

There’s another immortal here.

_Vampire...and a familiar one, at that._

In a burst of speed that would be invisible to the naked human eye, he darts toward the presence, barely cognisant of his companions hurrying to keep up with him. When he arrives in the next viewing room, he pauses in the entranceway, his eyes glued to the figure across the landing.

Pink hair isn’t as out of place in the fashion capital of the world as it was in the middle ages, and he doubts anyone could find fault with her even if it were. She’s dressed like any tourist, with large sun-glasses, faded jeans and a floral-print blouse that she probably wore seventy years ago to the same devastating effect. A ring with a well-shaped lapis lazuli stone gleams on her right hand.

He begins to take a step forward, but a hand stops him from doing so. Glancing up at Jūgo, he notices the other hybrid’s expression is anxious; even Suigetsu’s frame is tense. They were both present at his last encounter with Haruno Sakura, and they know the damage she can do.

Sasuke makes a dismissive gesture and pulls away.

He’ll take his chances.

She can’t possibly be ignorant of his presence, and yet she makes no move to run away; he is encouraged by that.

Sasuke takes note of the piece she is looking at and smirks, understanding instantly why it captured her interest. It’s the ink drawing of a young girl and a horse, rendered in a style similar to Renaissance  _sfumato_ …which is what makes it a mystery of the art world, as the placard beneath it says it was dated to the Sengoku period in Japan.

“It’s rather well-preserved for something sketched on the back of a scroll five hundred years ago,” he remarks, enjoying the fact she doesn’t even flinch at his voice. “And you look as ravishing as the day when I drew it.”

“And you’re perfect as usual – which is so beyond annoying that I can’t even look at you,” she retorts, although her actions belie her statement. She frowns up at him from beneath wispy bangs, her green eyes as wide and clear as he remembers. They settle on him for a moment, making his stomach clench in anticipation, but then are drawn to the champagne flute he still clutches in his hand. Her brows pull into a frown. “I take it the staff here aren’t on vervain.”

“Perceptive,” he approves. “Would you like a drink? Or, if champagne isn’t your preference, I’m sure there’s  _somewhere_  in this city that serves decent sake.”

“I’d rather die of thirst,” she answers primly, and turns on her heel. Within seconds she’s vanished from the room, taken up residence in a completely separate wing.

“Stunning, as ever,” Sasuke murmurs more to himself than anyone else.

“And she still looks good walking away from you,” Suigetsu notes.

Sasuke snorts, deciding to take it as a challenge.

“Jūgo, take Suigetsu and for all our sakes have him apologise to Karin.” Jūgo raises an eyebrow, while the shark-faced man makes a noise of protest. “Go buy her flowers or make a mix-tape or whatever grovelling it is that women these days require.”

“Will you be alright?” Jūgo asks.

“I’m always alright,” Sasuke answers, and stalks toward his prey.

Paintings and gilded mouldings flash by in a burst of preternatural speed, and he finds himself by her side again. She has placed herself in front of another painting – this time a landscape of a war-torn battlefield, riddled with lightning and bathed in the luminescence of a rippling moon.

“You always did have a taste for the dangerous,” he remarks in a low tone, leaning in close to her in a way that is just shy of inappropriate.

She groans, annoyed. “Are you serious? Stop following me.”

“May I remind you that you’ve crashed my private showing? If anyone should be upset, it’s me.”

“I’m only in town today and I wanted to visit. I’m not changing my plans because some brat-prince waved a fist of money around – or turned the staff to mindless automatons,” she retorts.

“Tch. Well…since I’m in a magnanimous mood, I suppose you can stay.”

“I could care less about your mood. I just want you to stop looking at me like I’m the next piece of art you’re planning to lift from this place. The museum is almost seventy thousand square metres, can’t you go enjoy a different part of it while I’m here?”

Her tone drips with disdain.

“You’re still angry about the Land of Iron, aren’t you?” he sighs. “It was just a little spat. I’m over it.”

“You shoved your arm through my chest, of course I’m not over it!” she snaps, the veins in her eyes turning dark red for a moment before she can quite control herself.

“You survived,” he points out in a reasonable tone. “I made special care to avoid your heart.”

“If you gave a damn about my heart, you’d never have come into my life and proceeded to ruin it!”

Sasuke exhales in annoyance, instantly realising what she’s referring to. “You’re  _not_  still angry about that!”

“You ordered Naruto to bite me!”

“Only a little.”

“It almost killed me!”

“You should have known better than to get involved with a hybrid.”

“He wasn’t a hybrid when I first got involved with him, he was my best friend! And we were doing fine! It was only after, when he was under the control of your freaky-hybrid-sire-bond thing, that we had a problem!”

“Semantics,” he dismisses. “Besides, from what I heard afterward, I did you both a favour. Didn’t he settle down with that socially impaired wolf? She was a Hyūga, right?”

“Hinata,” Sakura corrects, pursing her lips.

“The last time I was in the East I saw them. They both seem very happy. Naruto’s even forgiven me for it, and he hasn’t been sire-bonded to me in centuries,” Sasuke says. “Just think – if I hadn’t intervened, he might still have those inconvenient feelings for you and you might have gotten in the way of the eternal bliss of two soulmates.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to lower yourself to name-calling. Just tell me how I can acquit myself.”

“For one, you can turn around, walk away and leave me alone,” she suggests. “And for another, you can stop filing museums around the world with my face.” She nods to another likeness of her across the room, done in Impressionist water colours. “Do you realise how hard it is to keep a low profile when you resemble some of the most recognisable art in the world?”

“And it would have nothing to do with the colour your hair, which you refuse to change,” he rolls his eyes.

She crosses her arms at him.

“Come now, Sakura. Take a chance,” he implores as she crosses her arms. “Talk to me. Get to know me again. You’d think considering out history you might give me an hour.”

She stares him down for several agonizingly long seconds, her eyes searching his for something – he’s not completely sure what she’s looking for, but a speculative gleam enters her eyes – along with a familiar hungry spark – and she nods incrementally.

“Fine,” she says at last, “one hour. But if we’re going to be nice to each other, I’ll need a glass of champagne.”

“You’ll have to wait for our server to catch up with us then.”

“By the time he does, your hour will be up.”

“Then you should probably start talking.”

“About what?” she challenges.

“You,” he says, “Tell me what you’ve been doing the past few decades. Other than going from poor country to poor country playing the heroic, miracle-working doctor.”

Her eyes widen. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’re a legend in many parts of the world – a benevolent healing goddess, or so the stories say. It’s impossible to travel to certain areas and not hear of the immortal woman who can heal any wound or ailment. I hope you’re being careful with that gift.”

“Of the two of us, I’m the only one that makes it my business to give people their lives back instead of taking them, so you don’t get to lecture me.”

“On the contrary, I have several centuries of experience on you – that gives me some right to lecture.”

 “Geez, you haven’t changed at all. Still completely arrogant and undeservedly confident all at the same time.”

“And you are still irrationally beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes and turns to consider the nearest art piece (some stylistic bronze sculpture he wouldn’t even consider art), but he sees the dusting of pink across her cheekbones and he knows he has an opening.

“You remember what I said?” he prompts softly. “The last time we met?”

He sees her reflection in the protective glass of the portrait – sadness. “You said, ‘a normal life won’t be enough’.”

“Was I right?”

“About that, yes…but you failed to account for something very important.”

“Oh?”

She turns to look up at him. “That even being what I am – even being a bloodthirsty vampire – I still like people. And they like me. So, no, Sasuke, I’m not ready to turn my back on all of that just to be with you.” Something like resolve enters her expression and she takes a step closer. “Maybe you should consider coming out into the light one day. Or meeting me half-way.”

“I don’t do things by halves,” he tells her, inching toward her. A human would sense a predator right now and run, but as always, she stands remains still – straight-backed and defiant as the first day he met her.

Back when she was human.

Before some idiot vampire got bored and turned her – and while he’s thankful for her existence, he feels she deserved a death more fitting. This woman was meant for the legendary battles of old, a beautiful and terrifying amazon fighting until her last breath on the battlefield, destined to awake anew once she tasted the blood.

Not smothered to death with a pillow.

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” she responds dryly, and once more turns away from him to stare at a painting behind protective glass. He scowls, feeling there is something wrong with this situation. She is a sunflower and he is the sun and her face should be turned to him.

Or vice versa.

It’s maddeningly confusing that he can never decide which is the more apt imagery.

But this is a game, and it has certain rules, as do all of their encounters. He can tolerate playing it – if only for another few minutes.

He leans closer, much farther into her personal space; he can smell the floral scent of her shampoo and hear the rushing thrum of her blood.

“Have you ever wondered  _why_ , even after all these centuries, we still find our way to one another? Why we’re so consistently drawn to each other?” he asks, whispering the words in her ear and delighting in the subtle shiver that moves through her entire body.

“Because you’re a stalker?” Sakura suggests mildly.

“ _Chemistry_ ,” he purrs. “You’re beautiful, you’re strong, you’re full of…light. I enjoy you.”

“We don’t always get to keep the things that we enjoy,” she reminds him.

“True.” Sasuke smirks. “But they always come back.  _You_  always come back.” He tries to catch her gaze, but she turns away, her hair falling in a curtain across her face. Not to be deterred, he takes up the space behind her, combing the locks behind her ear so that he can keep whispering to her. “Come with me. I’ll take you wherever you want…Rome, Madrid, Barcelona…”

“I can get by on my own by now,” she maintains, but the words are softer now.

“But I’ve been around longer than you. I know the tiny, hidden away secrets of the world – the crevices you wouldn’t think to look for…”

“And then what? We just forget the past?” she asks. “We just forget all of the horrible things we’ve done to each other?”

“We’re immortal. Our standard of horrible is slightly different from the norm.”

“And what about our standard of love?” Sakura counters. “Isn’t that supposed to be the on thing that doesn’t change?”

“On the contrary,” he answers, leaning around her other side to whisper in her left ear this time, “it only grows.”

He tentatively curves his right arm around her back, pausing for a moment to see if she will grant him permission to touch her, and then fits his hand around her upper arm. Her eyes slide sideways, meeting his own, which bleed red in anticipation once more.

He waits until he hears the slightest hitch in her breath – something he recognises after so longer as  _consent_  – before shifting forward, moulding his body against her back.

Tilting his head, he kisses the side of her neck, scraping one of his eye teeth across the tendon there; it’s not enough to break the skin, just enough to make her shudder in expectation. His free hand snakes around the front of her, sliding across her waist and slowly down toward the waistband of her jeans.

“This isn’t love,” she murmurs distractedly as he flicks the button open and draws down the zipper. “It’s obsession.”

“Attraction,” he corrects, sliding his hand inside, underneath her undergarments, just to skim the place where she feels warm and damp. He smirks to himself – five hundred years, and yet she is  _always_  ready for him – and then pulls back.

She groans and slumps back against him. “You talk more than you used to.”

He ignores that and grips her hips, pressing his own firmly against hers so that she can feel his growing erection against her back.

They could do this fast and rough – they  _have_  done fast and rough over the years – but there’s something in taking it slow – in fighting those lightning fast reflexes burning to snatch and grab – that is much more difficult, and infinitely more rewarding.

His hand begins to inch back down the front of her again, and she arches her back, trapping his cock more tightly between their bodies. In response, he presses one finger inside her very damp underwear – and then inside of her.

Sakura moans, hips instinctively jering toward his fingers, giving him enough space between their bodies to undo the fastenings on his trousers. He pulls himself out, gives his cock a few slow pumps, and then presses against her again – only to be reminded of the barrier of her clothing.

Cursing, he nudges her toward the nearest wall, and despite a murmur of annoyance, she complies, until she is pressed up against it with both hands. Tugging at her jeans with his free hand, he seeks out the most sensitive bundle of nerves and circles his fingers against it in small, slow movements.

“Sa…suke…”

“Yes?” he drawls, finally dragging the bothersome clothing partway down her hips. He takes a moment to run a hand along the curve of her backside, before nestling himself right between her cheeks. He has to bite down on his lip to hold back the moan at the feel of their skin touching.

“We…we’re supposed to be… _hhah –_ talking, not…doing  _this_  –!”

“But we’ve always been so good at doing this,” he replies, and without warning plunges two fingers all the way inside her.

She cries out then –  _“Please!” –_ and he withdraws his fingers once again.

“Please what?”

In response she snarls, snatching his fingers with her own and forcing them back to her warm centre. Sasuke begins to smirk against the side of her face, but a moment later her other hand slips behind her and fastens around his cock.

He emits a curse of surprise, his knees buckling as she begins to squeeze him in just the right way, forcing him to thrust into the tight ring of her fingers.

“Don’t be a tease,” she growls at him, sliding her hand up and down his shaft in a repetitive motion. The angle is wrong, and the limited mobility of her wrist is more frustrating than fulfilling, but every so often she thumbs the head of his cock and his hips stutter forward.

He wraps his fingers around hers, stroking their joined hands up and down his cock a few times, trying to gain some temporary measure of relief, before growing impatient and batting her hand away. Nudging her forward, he pushes her to bend over a little further, maneuvering around the awkward position until their hips line up properly, and then without pause he pushes into her from behind.

She emits a garbled curse, her head falling back against his shoulder, and she is hot and tight and wet around him –

 _Perfect_ , he thinks as he squeezes her hip with his free hand, using it to help him pin her against the wall; his belly against the small of her back and his cock penetrating as deep as possible. Her breath staggers in anticipation, and he can feel her knees shaking a little – his aren’t much better, if he’s being honest – but still a note of peevishness rises above the barrage of pleasure assaulting his nerves.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just…stop? And continue our conversation?” he suggests innocently.

She snarls at him and juts her hips forward, before roughly shoving backward onto him.

“ _Fuck!”_ he hisses, forced to use both hands to gain purchase on her hips. When she clenches her inner muscles around him, he repeats his cursing into the back of her neck.

“I told you not to be a tease,” she pants, glaring at him over her shoulder; her eyes are veiny and red once again, and the snarl of her lips exposes her fangs. “Finish this already, so we can get it out of our systems!”

An angry film of red passes across his vision at that, but he acquiesces to her demand, speeding up his pace. Rough, deep thrusts that make her moan and make him grit his teeth. She arches her spine into him as moves, enough to stimulate the most sensitive area within her, but not enough to grant her release.

He won’t let that happen until he deems it the time.

Threading his fingers through her hair, he uses it to wrench her head to one side, earning a cry of pain.

“There’s no ‘getting it out of our systems’,” he hisses, punctuating his statement with a fierce thrust forward that earns a cry. “No going back.” He moves his other hand to cup her beast beneath the flimsy material of her blouse. “No getting over each other.”

“Screw…you…” she pants, but rather than retaliate with another brutal thrust, he goes still. By supreme effort he holds her immobile, stopping the desperate movements of her hips, all the while straining to keep his own pelvis still.

The pleasure, ratcheted up by their frenzied movements, stalls, hovering just beyond reach and threatening to disappear.

But he has a point to make, and she  _will_  hear it.

“We belong to each other,” he tells her, bringing his lips to hover by her earlobe. She shivers, against his chest. “You were my first love, and I intend you to be my last. However many more centuries it takes.”

He pauses several seconds, letting it sink in without the haze of arousal and pleasure to cloud his meaning.

And then he thrusts forward, at the same time biting into the taught flesh of her neck.

She actually screams this time – pain and pleasure from the deadly wound blended together – and he loses himself then.

The taste of her blood on his tongue and the sensation of her warm heat surrounding his cock, her inner muscles clenching and tightening with each of his thrusts. He’s vaguely aware of her hand prying his fingers from her breast and pressing his wrist to her lips. There’s a brief, razor sharp pain as her teeth tear open the delicate skin there, and then a completed circuit of sensation, doubling and redoubling every time their bodies lock together.

He’s vaguely aware of the fingertips of her other hand fumbling against the place where they are joined, but that’s when he looses himself. His thrusts grow less controlled, more frantic; her voice urges him on, commands that border on begging and the smell of their blood in the air is dizzying.

Far sooner than he expects, she clenches around him, letting out one last, guttural cry as she comes apart. Her inner muscles seize around him like a vice, and it’s not much longer before he wraps his arms around her and goes rigid, his release spilling into her.

Sight and sound seem to flicker away with the rest of his senses.

For several long minutes, they both remain hunched against the wall, hearts beating in sync. As he slowly comes back to himself, Sasuke traces the hairs on the back of her neck with his nose, eyes in appreciation of the moment.

In the distance, footsteps echo in a distant hallway.

“Someone’s coming,” she murmurs tiredly.

“Someone already did,” he replies, feeling witty in his post-orgasmic haze.

She doesn’t appreciate it, though, and shoves him until they separate.

“You got blood on my blouse,” she accuses him, wiping at the smear of red across her neck and tugging her underwear and jeans back up over her hips.

“That would be the last thing anyone notices looking at you,” he tells her, genuine compliment in his words as he tucks himself back into his own trousers.

But she ignores it, rounding on him with eyes blazing.

“You could have killed me just now,” she snaps, pointing at his already fading bite. “So much for spending centuries waiting – hybrid venom could  _kill_ me.”

“But that’s what makes it all the more intense, wouldn’t you say? The spectre of death waiting in the wings,” he replies smoothly. “Besides, you weren’t complaining at the time. If you truly feared for your life, you’d have stopped me. You’d have pulled away.” He steps forward, eyeing her hungrily; he’s not opposed at all to repeating their encounter. “But instead you kept going – you cured yourself with my blood, and you kept going – because you couldn’t stop. And you know I would never let anything happen to you.”

She doesn’t appear to have an answer for that, and instead look away, her expression a mixture of anger and embarrassment; probably directed at herself more than him.

He hates that look on her, and unfortunately, it’s not the first time he’s seen it.

“It’s always the same,” she says softly, a subtle strain in her voice, as if she’s holding back tears. “Being with you is distracting…and you take advantage. You overwhelm me until all I can think about is how much I want you…and then we’re back to where we started.”

“I fail to see that as a bad thing.”

“And that’s exactly the problem!” she cries. “All we do is fight and fuck and feed. I want more than that. we used to have more than that – but then you turned into this… _megalomaniac_  that’s trying to build himself a kingdom. And I don’t want that! I don’t want to just screw out brains out in old castles or drink the blood of entire towns or throw each other through mountains!”

“Then what do you want?” he snaps, now irritated as well. “Please, enlighten me, because I’ve been trying to figure it out for the past five hundred years.”

“I want a house,” she tells him, throwing him off guard because that – well, that’s rather simple, isn’t it? “I don’t care where. It’s what I’ve always wanted. A house, with a garden and a mortgage and a crappy nine-to-five job and…and  _kids_.”

He stares at her in alarm. “It’s not possible for us to have –”

“Do you know how many children are orphaned right now?” she cuts him off. “Little boys and girls who deserve families and parents and to grow up healthy? I could do that.  _We_  could do that!”

He stares down at her, feeling for the first time in a long time, something remarkably close to fear. And the worst thing is, she can sense it.

“But not now,” she finishes, voice lowering once more. “Not when you’re…like this.” She looks at him, and he reads judgement and regret and wistfulness there. “Not until you’re mature enough to handle it. Not while you’re buying out museums one day and then off on some vengeance-fueled blood vendetta the next.”

“I am what I am,” he tells her coldly. “Pure evil, as you keep reminding me so often. If you’re so keen on changing me –”

“Not changing,” she interrupts. “Saving.”

“From what?” he scoffs.

“From yourself. From whatever it is that you’re still running from all these centuries later,” she tells him seriously. “Something or someone hurt you long ago, before you even met me, and you’ve never healed. And if you’re capable of being hurt, it means there’s a part of you that’s still human.”

“You can’t be so foolish as to truly believe that.”

“I can,” she affirms. “Because I’ve seen it. And I’ve caught myself – countless times after so long – wishing I could forget all of the horrible things that you’ve done.”

“But you can’t, can you?”

“You’re in love with me. Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved,” she says firmly. “So I’ll live in hope. And I’ve certainly got time. You’re not the only one who can wait around.”

“And you need all this time?” he asks, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You can’t just…be with me now?”

She sighs and meets his gaze unflinchingly; her irises are filled with regret and resolve. “Call it self-preservation.”

“You know I’d never hurt you.”

“You know you already have.”

He has nothing to say to this.

Clearing her throat, she steps back.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she says.

“Is that an invitation to accompany you? You know you only have to say the word,” he remarks, but it feels duller and less sincere.

“No…no, you’re not ready yet,” she tells him sadly. “Maybe in another year…or another fifty.”

She begins to walk away from him, but his hand snatches out to stop her, spinning her around to face him. He wants nothing more than to hold her to him, shove her back against the wall and spend hours or days or weeks driving her mad, until the last thing she wants to do is leave him.

But as her hands come to rest on his shirt, curling delicately into the material, he feels the fight leave him. She gazes up at him with a look that isn’t hunger or judgement or wistfulness that he usually sees – it’s something he hasn’t seen since a moonlit night and teary-eyed girl telling him she loved him with all her heart.

Slowly – and unlike before, offering her any opportunity to pull away – he tilts his head down toward her, and softly brushes her lips with his own. Without hesitation she returns the kiss, a small sigh of contentment escaping her as she does.

Too quickly she pulls away, and he sees her features rearrange once more into the defensive, unyielding woman she has become over time.

“Don’t keep me waiting for another fifty years,” she tells him, and though she means it as a command he hears a plea.

This time when she leaves, he allows her to.

終わり

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> A little different from my usual fare, I think…but the thing is, as much as I love klaroline, the entire ship is just one big open-ended tease. I hope I managed to pull that off with this fic!
> 
> クリ


End file.
